


The Language of Flowers

by twohipsir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twohipsir/pseuds/twohipsir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An idyllic small town in England. Draco Malfoy. Reclusive son of a wealthy family in a small town who has a gift with plants and hasn't left his house since his sister died. Harry Potter. Young man alone in the world, save for an old friend of his long dead mother and the mystery of the Malfoy heir. A recipe for disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Flowers

The Language of Flowers

  
Introduction

  
 **floriography:** a Victorian era means of communication in which various flowers and floral arrangements were used to send secret coded messages allowing individuals to  to express feelings which otherwise could not be spoken

* * *

  
_He touched the petals gently, coaxing the wilting flower back to life. The branch perked and he set it back in the vase._

  
Draco Malfoy was rich. Draco Malfoy lived in Ancient House while Mr. and Mrs. Malfy lived in the Castle. Draco Malfoy went away to University but came straight home. Draco Malfoy did not work, had never worked in his whole life. Draco Malfoy had an way with plants florists would kill for. Draco Malfoy was never, ever seen off his own property.

  
Draco Malfoy sounded like a right snob.

  
All of these facts and numerous others followed the reclusive scion of the town’s oldest family. Everyone in town knew about Draco Malfoy. He was like some sort of idol, a bar set so high that no one could hope to reach it. But he was gracious and well-mannered too, all one had to do was leave an ailing flower at his door and the next day it would be in perfect health. He let the town’s children rampage through his grounds.

  
 _The observatory was warm, the perfect temperature for his favorite orchids. They bloomed all year round here; they never wilted or died._

  
Like the reclusive character of his favorite, Draco Malfoy held Harry’s attention like nothing else. He lived across the lane in a flat above the cafe where he worked but he had never seen the man once. He’d seen the elder Malfoys come and go from the house many times. But their son remained elusive.

  
It had been months since Harry drifted into town, dropped unceremoniously on the steps of the coffee house by he aunt and uncle. His fat, cruel cousin was off to college and there was simply no money for Harry anymore. Besides, he was old enough to work and provide for himself, as his Uncle Vernon liked to say. So Aunt Petunia called up an old friend of Harry’s deceased mother and she agreed to take him in.

  
Gloria, or Ms. Layward as the older folks called her, never made Harry feel like a burden. She remembered his red-headed mother fondly and kept a picture of herself with both of his parents on their wedding day in the shop. She treated Harry the way he imagined Petunia should have, teasing him and hugging him and sneaking him tubs of homemade lasagna.

  
 _The vegetable garden was flourishing. He tugged a carrot from the ground and brushed the dirt from it's orange root. He would have Crabbe harvest the lot soon and deliver them to the town food pantry, just in time for autumn._

  
It was Gloria who first told him of Draco while she helped him move into the flat. He’d been leaning out the front window admiring the house across the way. It was ancient, like the sign on the gate proclaimed, probably from the early 1700s and in wonderful shape.

  
“Idn’t it lovely?” she’d nodded, wiping the grime off his relative’s old dishes and stacking them in the cupboard. “That’s the house of Draco Malfoy. S'called Ancient House”

  
“Was he some wealthy landowner?” He could picture the house in it’s glory, with a handsome family breathing life into it’s walls, ancestors of the family still living in the Castle. “It looks like a museum.”

  
“Is a wealthy landowner, dear. Draco’s the son of the Malfoy’s up the hill. He should be only a few years older than yourself by now.”

  
Her comments distracted Harry from his fantasy. “Should be?”

  
“No one’s seen him in years. Left for University and moved straight in when he got back. Doesn’t get out much, poor dear. Been that way ever since his sister passed.”

  
“How sad.” Harry hummed thoughtfully, straining to see through the curtains. Perhaps Draco Malfoy was looking out one of his windows at that very moment.

  
 _The back yard was carefully enclosed by the biggest hedges in all of England. The unnaturally tall plants deterred anyone and everyone from trying to sneak a peek at him. Not that any of the natives would dream of it. It was the tourists, the strangers he had to watch out for._

  
And then she’d launched into numerous tales concerning the elusive heir, all glowing with pride and reverence but staying far away from the subject of the female Malfoy. At the time, Harry wanted nothing more than to meet this paragon of humanity. He was in perfect awe like the rest of the town.

  
He quickly grew resentful. Perhaps the stories were exaggerated. This young man sounded more like a selfish recluse than a wounded hero. The curtains never moved. The grounds were always filled to the brim with errant children. Draco Malfoy never, to Harry’s knowledge, deigned anyone worth greeting. He was like a less annoying, more aristocratic version of Harry's despicable cousin Dudley.

  
The only time anything changed was when the townspeople slipped through the gates at sunset and left their potted plants on the doorstep. By the time the sun rose, there were blossoming greens and bright flowers where the twigs had been only a few hours earlier. Harry saw this happen a few nights in a row before he asked Gloria.

  
“Oh that!” She laughed as she scuttled around the shop just before closing. Harry watched as Mr. Nourse left an old terracotta pot with an unidentified life form inside. Gloria waved cheerily to the old man who responded with a nod of his head.

  
“Young Master Malfoy loves gardening. He’s very good with plants. If anyone has a problem, they just leave it on his doorstep and he takes care of it, overnight! Never asks for anything in return, the lamb.”

  
“Strange.” Harry muttered. “How does he do it?”

  
“The usual way, I suppose.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Tender, loving care, my darling. He just has an awful lot of it.”

  
He didn’t argue. He didn’t use his abundant sarcasm skills to point out the flaws in her logic. He couldn’t. So Harry nodded and let his imagination run wild with the idea of Draco Malfoy.

  
 _Draco felt the disturbance in the town when Harry Potter arrived. The grass buzzed with whispers of his origins, how he had come to live in the apartment over Gloria's cafe. Draco had watched through the gauzy windows of his home as the boy moved his meager belongings while the people who drove the large SUV that had brought him sped away._

  
_The strange boy moved about his flat when he wasn't helping Gloria downstairs. Often, he would pause at the window an stare at Ancient House, making Draco feel as if he could see inside. He liked the look of this one, his black hair and gangly body though Draco could tell the he needed new clothes that fit properly. But that didn't matter. Potter was different and that was incredibly frightening. It was the strongest emotion Draco had felt since -_

  
_Frightening. Potter would change things around here, that much was obvious. Just how he would upset Draco's little town was yet to be determined._


End file.
